Pagan
by Hawki
Summary: To serve God and Ozriath. That was the creed of the Templar Order. To hunt down anyone who stood in defiance of that creed. No matter the cost.
1. Fading Light

**Path of Exile: Pagan**

**Chapter 1: Fading Light**

"Good, Jacob. Good."

The praise was genuine, and given the look of joy on his face, Jacob knew it. His father however, just stood there. The praise had been given. It had been earnt. Now, if the boy could hit the target again, that praise would remain.

"Damn!"

Which it didn't. It sailed past the target, flew into the courtyard wall, and judging by the squawks, landed on a chicken.

Jacob turned again. Coloman just nodded, giving the silent signal to keep trying.

Someday, Coloman knew, Jacob would take his place – lord of Castle Hefele, head of House Linsan, lord of Feis, and defender of the realm. Perhaps, like his father, he would obtain knighthood as well. But one step at a time, the knight and his wife had decided, and that meant learning how to shoot a bow before learning the ways of sword or lance. A journey that would involve many more steps, given another angry squawk on the other end of the courtyard,

Jacob didn't turn this time. And his father didn't blame him.

"Coloman, is this necessary?"

"It is until his aim improves."

"In this weather?"

The knight turned to face his wife. Covered from neck to toe in furs, she stood before him, her breath visible in the winter chill.

"Thiele, we talked about this."

"Talked. Not agreed. For God's sake, he's only eleven!"

"You can leave out the 'only' part of that sentence, dear."

Thiele sighed, and the knight couldn't blame her. He always won, they both knew that. Sometimes their children forgot this, but he was always willing to teach them another lesson if need be.

**Thwack.**

Both man and woman turned. Another arrow had hit the target.

"He's getting better, I'll give you that," Thiele said.

"Give _him _that, not me. I just watch."

The lady smiled and kissed him. "I know you do. Which is why you need something warmer than leather."

Coloman chuckled. God, he was cold. But he'd had Jacob wearing a similar amount of clothing, to help toughen him up against the cold. The least he could do was to not take any additional luxury for himself.

"Father!"

Luxury that his eldest daughter Sylvia could take. She was free to do as she liked today. Free to dress in fur. Free to ride. Free to come riding across the courtyard towards her parents, a worried look on her features.

"Sylvia?" Thiele asked, walking over to the girl as she reigned her horse in. "Is something wrong?"

"That depends."

"On what?" Coloman asked.

"How reciprocal you are to-"

A horn sounded, echoing throughout the courtyard. All hands stopped. Even Jacob's.

"Them."

Them. Coloman recognised the tune. He knew who 'they' were. And nodding towards Sylvia and walking towards the castle gate, he could understand her unease in bringing the news.

Them. Templar.

* * *

"It's been raining recently I take it?"

Coloman stared at the knights before him. Thiele, Sylvia, Jacob, even little Caletria. His family, and every other individual within the castle courtyard.

"Well, no matter. If God wishes to test me, I shall bare it."

The lord frowned. He didn't see mud as much of a test. Nor did he see what it had do to with anything concerning the Templar Order or the deity most of Ozriath's citizenry worshiped. But it presumably had something to do with the templar that had made the comments, dismounting from his horse and landing in said mud with a loud squelch. He removed his helm.

"Sir Philip," he said, extending a gauntleted hand. "Knight of the Templar Order."

Coloman took it, feeling naked as his bare flesh became briefly encased in iron. He observed the templar's features. Brown eyes, a scar that ran across his right cheek, not a single hair to be seen on his head. Like the white tunic that covered his armour, he was as plain as a cloudless sky.

"You are Lord Coloman, correct?" the templar continued. "Lord of this castle?"

"I am." He gestured to Thiele and his children. "Though I share it with-"

"Charmed," the templar murmured.

Coloman flexed his fingers, and not only because of the strength of Philips's grip when they'd shaken hands. This wasn't an informal visit. Granted, no templar visit was ever informal, but with Philip not even bothering with the usual formalities...

"I see you've brought many men with you," the knight murmured, noting the nine other templar and twenty men-at-arms behind him. "Do you require lodgings, or-"

"No. We won't be here long. And if you don't mind, I'd like to keep our stay as short as possible by cutting to the heart of the matter."

Philip nodded to his knights who began leading the company out of the castle gate. "Short visit," it seemed, was an understatement.

"If there is a place we can talk privately…"

Philip nodded towards the column. Privately, as in, within earshot of the other templar, but not within the range of any resident of Castle Hefele. Coloman glanced back at Thiele, currently clutching Caletria's hand. She nodded.

_Thank you._

The two men headed for the castle gate. They passed through it, reaching the open land that separated it from the village of Strobel below. Philip turned from it and leant against the wall.

"Do you know why I'm here, Sir Coloman?"

"No."

"Really?" Philip took off one of his gauntlets and drew out a dagger. He began picking away at the dirt that had accumulated beneath his nails. "I find that surprising."

"Well, if you want other surprises, my jester can-"

"I'm not interested in fools, Coloman. I'm interested in witches."

"Witches?!" Coloman exclaimed. "God almighty, don't tell me-"

"The lord's name is not to be taken in vain," the templar interrupted, standing up straight. "And yes, I said witches. As in, the witch that resides in the village below."

_Oh seven hells._

"Don't tell me the murmurings of the villagers haven't reached you," Philip continued. "They reached us after all."

_You'd hear a fart on the other side of the world if a 'sinner' did it. _"People will say anything about anything," Coloman murmured. "And many times, that includes rumours getting out of hand."

"And it's our duty to investigate them."

The lord of Hefele remained silent. Yes, it was the templars' duty to investigate 'crimes' against God and the kingdom. How many times those 'crimes' were actually crimes at all was up for debate. Magic existed in the world, along with the abuse of that power, and the Order's faith was the same as that of the kingdom. But there was faith, and there was zealotry. And from what Coloman had heard, often the templars engaged in the latter.

"You do realize I'm here as a courtesy don't you?" Philip asked. "In matters of witchcraft, we have authority."

"Then what do you need me for?"

"Because this witch is in your domain. I believe you should be there as a formality."

"And if I told you I believed you were wasting your time?" Coloman asked icily. "What then?"

"Then my opinion of you would diminish greatly."

The two men stared at each other. It didn't need to be said that the templar's opinion of his counterpart was already quite low.

"Fine," Coloman said. "I'll come. But for my domain. Not yours."

Philip snorted and made his way to his horse.

Silently, Coloman turned and walked back to the castle. He'd need his horse, a tunic that reflected his heraldry, to inform his family of the task that had been given to him.

And, he supposed, as he saw the worried faces of those he loved, some armour as well.

Just in case the templars were correct.

* * *

_A/N_

_This actually started out as a oneshot, one based on the writing process of 'visual stimulation' - to take an image/series of images, and make a story based on them/it. That I did, and the link to the picture in question is on my homepage (couldn't find the one who drew it, hence why it isn't used as the story's cover due to lack of permission). I ended up making it a multi-chaptered story though, partly due to its length, partly due to the...well, I'll cover that in the epilogue._


	2. Hellfire

**Path of Exile: Pagan**

**Chapter 2: Hellfire**

"In the name of God and the king, open up!"

Coloman kept playing with his horse's reign. The mount snorted.

_I know how you feel._

"If you don't open this door, fire will take it!"

Dusk had come, and the temperature had dropped even further. In a way, the lord supposed, fire wouldn't have been too bad, given the warmth it would provide. But luckily, it hadn't come to that yet. He supposed he had to give Philip that much credit.

"One…two…"

On the other hand, if the resident of this hovel really _was _a witch, threatening to barge in while every other warrior held back didn't seem like a good strategy.

"Three! Alright, I-"

The door opened. A young woman stood there.

"What were you going to do?" she asked. "Blow my house down?"

Coloman smirked.

"You'll find I'm worse than any wolf, _witch_."

And the smirk left. Because already Philip had come to the conclusion that she was a witch. A witch, Coloman reflected, that had _opened the bloody door._

"And I'm a pig," she said. "Wish I could say my house was made of bricks, but…" She glanced at Coloman. "You know how it is my _lord_."

The knight remained on his horse. He just stared at her.

He'd heard whispers of the villagers as they'd made their way through Strobel to its outskirts, where the woman's hovel was. Whispers that betrayed their belief that she was indeed a witch, but also the lack of any real evidence for it. They whispered in the streets, they kept their children away from her, but Coloman had noticed that they'd never cited any specific event or deed. The most they could say beyond rumour was that every so often, they would see light flickering from inside the hovel and shadows that darted through it. But this girl…black hair of respectable length, simple clothes, icy blue eyes…she looked every much a normal villager.

"There is but one true lord," Coloman heard Philip intone. "And you stand before him to be judged."

"Oh, your god is it?" the girl asked. She looked at the templar and knight before her. "And which one of you is the true lord, and which is the fake?"

Philip spluttered on his intended response.

"Or is it one of your men that hides in the dark?" she asked, gesturing to the templars and men at arms beyond the small garden. "They're afraid you know."

"Should they be?" Coloman asked. He met her gaze. "What's your name?"

"Sheba."

"Well, Sheba, I'm afraid that my subjects have been making various allegations about you."

Sheba opened her mouth. Philip interrupted.

"Enough of this," he said. "We've come to take you. You shall be judged. You shall be measured. If found wanting, you shall meet judgement. If not, you may return to your…home."

"That's nice. But I'd rather stay here."

Philip stared. Coloman raised an eyebrow. She looked up at him.

"Goodnight, milord."

And with that, the door closed.

Coloman glanced at Philip. He wanted to go home. The girl seemed harmless, he'd seen nothing out of the ordinary, and the lack of any real evidence that the townsfolk had provided had only convinced him that they were just rumours and nothing more. Looking at Philip, he feared that the templar would drag things out. Instead, he turned his horse around and started moving back towards his men.

"Well then," Coloman said, doing likewise. "That went well."

Philip remained silent.

"I think it's safe to say that if she was a witch we'd be toads by now then?"

Philip still remained silent. He dismounted his horse, nodded to one of his fellow templar, who promptly walked over to the men at arms.

"So, it's a night then?" Coloman asked, feeling the stirrings of unease. "You're welcome to stay in my castle of course. I-"

"One more word Coloman and you'll burn with her."

Coloman held his horse in place. Philip turned to face him.

"You've become lax, _Lord _Coloman. Or maybe you always were. But whatever the case, I'm going to do what should have been done long ago."

Coloman stared. Stared at Philip. Stared at the men-at-arms, all of whom had drawn bows. Stared at the iron buckets the templar were laying down in front of them.

"Philip," he asked. "What are you doing?"

Flames sprung from the buckets. The tips of the arrows were lowered into them.

"Judgement," Philip murmured.

The bows were raised.

"No," Coloman said, dismounting. "No! You can't do this! Not here! Not on my land!"

He ran towards Philip. The templar stopped his charge by grabbing his neck with one hand.

"Don't try me," he whispered. "The witch made her choice. She has refused fair trial. So fire awaits her. First here, then in Hell."

"You don't even know if she is a witch!" Coloman yelled, breaking free of the templar's grip. "For God's sake, you don't even know-"

Philip struck him across the forehead. The knight fell to the ground, reeling.

"Don't use His name in vain," the templar whispered. "Not here. Not now."

Coloman wanted to say something. But his head was spinning. A wind was blowing. One of the templars shouted "ready!"

_No. Not now. Not like this._

"Loose!"

"No!"

The arrows flew. The wind howled.

And as Coloman watched on helplessly, the hovel burned.

* * *

"Your beverage, my lord."

"Not wine. Bring me rum."

Coloman didn't watch the servant scamper off. Or at least, scamper as fast as someone carrying a bottle of wine and glass could without dropping either. He just kept one elbow on the table while he used his other arm to apply the slab of meat to his forehead.

"How's it feeling?" Thiele asked, looking at her husband from across the table.

Coloman sighed and removed the meat, letting the bruise show in all its glory. "You remember when Sir Boyle got kicked by his horse?"

"Um, yes."

"Well, now I know how he feels."

Thiele smiled kindly. Coloman groaned and returned the meat to his forehead. He gave a small thank you to the servant and uncorked the bottle before taking it to his lips.

"Coloman!"

"My table, my rules."

Or the lack of them, he reflected. But putting the bottle down after his swill, he couldn't care less.

He'd missed dinner. He'd missed seeing Jacob and Caletria while they were awake. He'd barely seen Sylvia, and alone, in the castle's dining hall, the lord and his wife might as well have been the only residents of Hefele. As he'd ridden through the gate alone, he doubted whether most of the castle's residents even knew he'd returned.

"Look at you," Thiele said, standing up and walking round to him. "You're a mess."

"Don't start Thiele."

"Coloman, there was nothing you could do," Thiele said, coming up behind him and putting her hands on his shoulders. "You were alone. The templars had over twenty men in total."

"I let a subject die," he grunted, taking another swig of the rum. "The templars did what they always do, and I just stood there and watched."

"No, you didn't," said Thiele firmly. "And your bump…_wound_…can attest to that."

"Unless I'm burnt alive too, I don't think that counts for much."

"Well, no-one's burning you," Thiele said. "And you're not staying up a minute longer."

"I-"

"Bed. Now."

Coloman groaned. But he got up from his seat and followed his wife to the staircase nonetheless.

_Forgot the rum._

He turned back towards the table. Thiele steered his head back to the stairs.

Coloman's head was pounding, and it wasn't just because of the blow Philip had dealt him. He remembered the flames. He remembered the feeling of helpless and shame that had coursed through him. _Still _coursed through him. Maybe the woman really was a witch. Maybe the rumours of the townsfolk were well founded. But Coloman hadn't seen anything himself that suggested that she'd done anything wrong, and as some who had to pass sentence over genuine criminals…

_It wasn't right. _

The lord groaned as they reached the landing where the family bedrooms were. Thiele smiled at him, as if to say, "nearly there." Her husband remained silent. All of this was-

"Aieee!"

_Sylvia!_

On instinct, Coloman ran down the passageway. He recognised his daughter's voice. He knew the sound of distress. So did his wife, running after him.

"Jacob!" he heard his eldest daughter cry out. "What are you-"

The exclamation cut off.

_Shit!_

The lord and lady rounded the corner, to the corridor where Jacob and Caletria's bedrooms were. The door to Caletria's was closed. Jacob's wasn't. And before it lay Sylvia, sprawled against the wall. Blood poured out from her left shoulder.

"Sylvia!" Thiele exclaimed, running towards her, past her husband. "Sylvia!"

Coloman glanced at his daughter as he ran towards the open door. Her face was pale, but the wound wasn't lethal. And while he was concerned for her, his instincts as a knight told him to let Thiele tend to her daughter, while he confronted the assailant. And to make sure his son was-

"Jacob!"

Alright. Which he wasn't.

Coloman stared into the room. It was a mess. Even more so than usual. But that didn't compare to the open window. To Jacob's floating body. And to the woman standing in the gloom.

"Hello Lord Coloman."

The knight stared. It was impossible. Just impossible.

"Silent treatment eh? That's more than what the others gave me."

"Coloman?" Thiele called, walking in. "What-"

She fell silent as an unseen force slammed her against the wall.

"Thiele!"

Coloman looked at his wife. Then he looked back at the assailant.

At the witch. At Sheba.

"You bitch!"

He charged her. He was without sword or armour, but he still charged her. Which might have contributed to the ease in which she stuck her hand out, preventing him from moving. Forcing him to kneel.

"You should be grateful," she hissed. "Your wife and daughter are still alive. I could have taken this to excess."

"You…can't…"

"You tried to take my life," Sheba whispered. "I think it's only fair that I take recompense."

She turned round and started walking towards Jacob.

"You tried to take my future, my _lord_. So now I'll take yours as well."

"No!"

Coloman tried to move. But he couldn't. His limbs had betrayed him. His family were incapacitated. And Jacob, his son, was there before him. Floating in the air. And like the witch, he disappeared.

"Jacob!"

Coloman fell down, the witch's spell having disappeared along with her.

"No," he whispered. "No no no!"

Philip was right. She was a witch. A witch that had definitely done something now.

_I let it happen. I provoked her._

The knight pounded the ground, tears running down his face, his head pounding, and not because of the earlier blow Philip had inflicted.

"My lord?"

Coloman turned his head around. A trio of men-at-arms stood there.

"My lord, I…what happened?" one asked, rushing over to him while the others tended to Thiele and Sylvia. "Are you alright? Where's Jacob"

The knight shook his head. Nothing was alright. It was as far from 'right' as it was possible to be.

"My lord?"

"Muster my men," Coloman said, getting to his feet. "Now."

"I…um…"

"What?"

"It's just…the templar, my lord. It's why we came up to find you. They've returned to the castle."


	3. Blood and Stone

**Path of Exile: Pagan**

**Chapter 3: Blood and Stone**

"I lost my son because of you!"

"You lost your son to that witch! And if you'd bothered to stay at my side, you'd have realized she was still alive!"

"If you hadn't provoked her, this wouldn't have happened!"

"Oh spare me!"

Coloman didn't want to 'spare' Philip. He wanted to strangle him. Stab him. Tie him up, throw him off the castle wall, and let the crows feast on his corpse. He wanted to do these things, and that the templar took a waterskin from one of the castle's servants didn't endear Coloman to the man any further.

"The flames did nothing," the templar rasped, wiping the water from his chin. "The men-at-arms? Gone or dead. And of my templar brothers, three are dead, another four are wounded. And to top it off, ten families have lost a child to her."

"Eleven…" Coloman whispered.

"The townsfolk are in panic, the city watch can only keep them placated for so long, so here's what's going to happen," Philip continued, not pausing in his lecture. "You'll send your men down there to keep the peace. And in the meantime, you'll come with me and my remaining men to smoke the bitch out."

Coloman snorted. "You failed to take her before Philip. What makes you think this will work?"

"Witches can command the elements if their powers are great enough. But none are powerful enough to resist steel and faith." He took another sip of the water. "The fire, Coloman? Turned back on us. She won't have that luxury when we find her."

The lord of Castle Hefele remained silent. Part of him wanted to bring up his encounter with the woman, how she'd stopped him moving without any effort. The other part didn't care anymore. The part that was consumed with thoughts of Jacob, and the likelihood that he was already dead.

"Well?" Philip asked. "You turned away once. Are you going to do so again?"

"What makes you think I won't take my men and hunt her down myself?" Coloman murmured.

"Because I know your son was taken. Whatever you think of me, I'm assuming you want your boy alive. So trust me when I say that the witch will see an army coming. But you and my men? That's small enough, yet powerful enough. We have faith. And you have a father's conviction. That's something that none of us have."

_You're Goddamn right._

Philip took another swig from the waterskin and started to make his way to his horse. In turn, one of Coloman's knights made his way over to him.

"My lord, for what it's worth-"

"Take your men with you into Strobel," Coloman said, not meeting the knight's gaze. "Keep the peace. Treat the people with respect. Calm their fears."

"My lord, I-"

"I'm going with the templars," Coloman continued, meeting Sir Jonas's gaze. "Likely, Jacob's dead. They may all be dead. Deaths that are on my head. So I won't put them on anyone else's." He placed a hand on the knight's shoulder. "Do you understand?"

Jonas nodded. Coloman could tell that while he understood, he didn't want to let his lord go by himself. But as he bowed and walked over to the other knights, giving orders, it was what was going to happen anyway.

That left only one thing to take care of.

Turning around, Coloman saw Thiele and Sylvia standing at the keep gate. Thiele had recovered from the blow the witch had inflicted on her, and Sylvia's wound had been treated. Despite all the commotion, Caletria was still asleep. Coloman hoped it would stay that way.

"Father…"

It was Sylvia that spoke first, and her father smiled. She tried to sound formal. She tried to look formal, even with her left shoulder and arm exposed in a most unladylike manner. But her cracking voice, the tears in her eyes…

"It's alright," Coloman whispered, hugging her while trying to avoid disturbing her wound. "It's alright."

Thiele embraced him as well. "Please," she whispered. "Please…"

Coloman didn't say anything. He knew what the request was. To come back alive. And to bring Jacob with him.

"I'll be back," he said. "I promise."

Thiele nodded. Sylvia used her good arm to wipe away her tears.

"And Jacob too."

It was a promise.

Kissing them both and heading for his mount, Coloman just hoped he could keep it.

* * *

Four horses stood tied to trees. Four men made their way from the horses to the cave. Eight eyes saw the light that emanated from it. One of them held up his hand. The other three stopped.

"She's in there," he said.

"How do you know?"

"God's will."

"Great. I'm sure his will guided you back at the hovel as well."

The leader glared at the man behind him. And that man, Coloman of House Linsan, glared back at him.

"Follow me," said Philip eventually.

The knight and templars followed. Philip first, followed by his subordinates. And Coloman last.

_I'm coming Jacob._

The knight told himself that. Yet he moved slowly. He was afraid of what he might find.

Somehow, the templars had tracked the witch down. Philip hadn't bothered to explain how, but one of the templars, Sir Hogan, had explained that some members of the Order were specifically trained to sense and follow the trail of magic, and that Philip had been trained in such arts. Coloman wasn't sure if he believed that, but he was willing to take the templars' word for it.

"Alright, hold up," Philip whispered, crouching behind a rock outside the cave entrance. He turned to face his men. "This is it."

"As God wills," the other templars intoned.

"Strike hard, strike fast, no mercy," Philip whispered. "May your sword and steel be strong."

"Amen."

Coloman clutched his sword as well. It was this line of thought that had got them into this mess in the first place. But if this fanaticism got his son back, he was willing to work alongside these men.

"Charge!"

Shouting warcries and prayers, the templar charged forward. Coloman followed. Like them, he wore chainmail rather than the full-plate. He wanted manoeuvrability and speed on his side. So he charged with them. He kept up with them. And entering the cave, he came to a stop with them as well.

"Oh my God…"

The words came from Coloman.

There were eleven bodies, all laid out in a row. Six male, five female. All of them children. All of them just lying there. Ten of them had a cut to their neck, the blood trickling down from the ledge they were on into a pool of water beneath them. That was the general structure of the cave – the knights below, the bodies above.

"Hello, old _friends_."

Along with the witch. Sheba.

Coloman grasped his sword with both hands, getting into a fighting stance. So did Sir Hogan and Sir Knaus. Philip just walked forward, pointing his sword up to the witch as if challenging her.

"It's over, _witch_. The Lord's judgement has come."

"Who, Lord Coloman?" she sneered. She flicked her hair back over her shoulder. "How's the family, my _lord_? I do hope your daughter's wound wasn't too bad."

"Where is my son?!"

"Oh, he's here. I was just about to get to him."

Sheba walked over to the far side of the ledge. To the one body yet to be slaughtered. The body of Coloman's son.

_Jacob…_

"You should have listened to your cowardice," the witch continued. "This wouldn't have happened then."

"Your words mean nothing," Philip spat.

"Don't they? This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't burnt my house. These children wouldn't have died if I didn't have to repay them for the powers I borrowed." She gestured down to the pool of water, the blood swirling around it. "Blood for blood, life for life."

"Your heresy dooms you."

"And you're dead already," she snarled. "Tell me, templar, how many of your men did I kill? Or wound? Or drove away? I ask because with only two of your lackeys beside you and a lord who should be enjoying his time with his family, you don't seem to have enough."

"There's no fire here for you to manipulate," Philip said. "Only steel."

"I know," Sheba said, holding up her ceremonial knife. "Some of it's mine."

_Enough of this, _Coloman thought.

The witch grinned, levitating herself into the air. One of her hands glowed blue. The other remained red with blood. Coloman tightened his grip on his sword.

And then all hell broke loose.

A fireball was cast down towards the men. It missed, but then came another. And another. And another.

"Move!" Philip shouted.

There were two pathways up to the ledge on where the bodies rested. Philip took one. Coloman took the other. Hogan and Knaus were ready to follow, but had yet to recover from the near-misses.

The witch flew down to the lower level. Just as the templar and knight reached the upper level.

"Shit!"

Coloman glanced down at the scene below. Hogan and Knaus swung their swords, clearly possessing great skill. But it did no good. Sheba wove in and out of their blows, avoiding them.

Philip rushed down. But not before the witch raised her hands into the air, ice surging out from her feet. Freezing the templar in place.

"Dastard! I-"

Knaus stopped talking. He fell down as the ice melted, blood pouring out from his throat where the witch had used her blade.

"Heretic!"

Philip surged forward. So did Hogan. Coloman watched as they pressed their attack, driving the witch to a wall.

_Jacob…_

He wanted to join them. But he wanted even more to see his son. So he ran over, casting a guilty gaze to the other children, he reached the intended eleventh victim.

"Jacob?" he asked. "Can you hear me?"

His son stirred slightly, but otherwise remained still. A spell, a potion? He didn't know. But he still breathed. So for the knight, there was still hope.

"Just! Die!"

And still a battle to fight.

Coloman watched as the witch stamped a foot on the ground, sending out some kind of wave of energy. Philip was sent sprawling across the cave, while Hogan skidded across the stone but otherwise remained standing.

"Burn…" Sheba whispered.

A fireball came out of her hand, hitting the templar's chest. His tunic ignited. The templar screamed.

"Hogan!"

Coloman ran down the pathway. Templar or not, no-one deserved to be burnt alive. But the witch ran ahead. Hogan, in the midst of trying to get his tunic off, swung his sword at her. She ducked. And impaled the back of his neck with her blade.

"No!"

Coloman kept running. Philip charged at her. She sent a fireball towards the former.

_Shit!_

Coloman dived to the ground, hitting it just as Hogan's body hit the stone floor as well. Raising his gaze, he watched as Philip again tried to meet her flesh with his blade. The knight stared at the templar, who swung his sword like a man possessed. Maybe he was. But she kept avoiding his blows. She let out another wave of force, using it to send both Philip flying against one of the cave walls, and to send herself flying through the air. Back up to the upper level. Where Jacob was.

"No!"

Coloman charged. The witch landed. Her blade went up. Coloman's blade went forward. It touched her skin.

"Enough."

And it remained in its place. So did its wielder.

_No…_

Sheba looked down, placing a hand to her chest. She removed it. Blood was present.

"My blood," she whispered to Coloman, showing her palm to the knight. "My blood, good lord…"

Coloman wanted to speak. To say something. But he couldn't. Not now. Not with the witch's blade just above his son's body. Not as his sword dropped to the ground.

"There will be an eleventh," she whispered. "I used so much power at my home. I owe the spirits. The ceremony will be completed."

She walked over to the knight. Her blue eyes met his grey ones. Her long black hair stood in contrast to his short brown. Her simple village clothing faced off against his armour and tunic, bearing the emblem of his house.

"You wanted to watch me die," she whispered. "You watched me take your son. Now you can watch as I take his life."

She turned back to Jacob. She raised her blade. She-

"No!"

…glanced round.

"Please," the knight whispered. "Not my son."

"Why not?" she snarled. "What makes you think I would listen to you?"

"I-"

"I never did anything wrong. Then you came. You _all _came. They hated me! But you…you tried to kill me!" she spat. "Do you have any idea what it's like, nearly being burnt alive?!"

"That was the templars' work."

The witch spat in his face. "Your kingdom. Your region. Your responsibility."

"You're right," Coloman said. "So take me."

The witch stared at him.

"One more life…that's all you need," he whispered. "One more to pay back your…spirits?"

"That's one word for them."

"Well, take me." He lowered his head. "I did this. I let it happen. My son didn't. And…" He glanced at the other children. "You've shed enough innocent blood already."

"You started it," she whispered.

"Maybe. But perhaps my death can end it."

The witch stared at him. Jacob stirred. Coloman lowered his head again. He waited for one of two outcomes. His physical death. Or his emotional one.

He didn't get either. He heard a wet sound instead.

That was when he found himself able to move. He also found Philip standing beside the witch, a bloody stone in his hand. A bloody stone to match a bloody head.

"It's done," the templar rasped, taking out some handcuffs from his belt. He bound Sheba's hands. "Finally."

Coloman remained silent. Philip met his gaze.

"The witch started it Sir Coloman. Your devotion to your son is commendable. But witches and those in league with the dark arts bring these actions upon themselves. Never forget that."

"And everyone else who died?" the knight whispered, glancing at the bodies of the children and those of Knaus and Hogan. "Is that her fault? Or ours?"

"That's the price we pay in war."

"War. Is that what you call it?"

"I call it what it is."

With that, Philip sat down against the cave wall. He raised a hand to his head, also bleeding from where he'd hit the wall earlier.

"The handcuffs will prevent any magic from being used," he murmured. "She'll be tried. Executed. Maybe exiled." He smirked. "I hear Wraeclast is nice at this time of year. She'll die, but…well, sometimes one can receive punishment in this world as well."

Coloman remained silent. Partly because he didn't have anything to say. Partly because he heard Jacob stirring.

"Father?"

And waking.

Coloman hobbled over. Jacob rose slightly from the stone surface.

"Where am I?" he whispered. "The witch…I…"

Coloman hugged him. Harder than he ever had before.

"You're safe, Jacob" he whispered, closing his eyes. "You're safe."


	4. Epilogue: Whispers in the Dark

**Path of Exile: Pagan**

**Epilogue: Whispers in the Dark**

The spirits weren't with her.

The cell was dark, dank, and apart from the faint glow of the setting sun pouring in through her window, lightless. But that meant little to Sheba. She was born in the dark. She grew up in the dark. The comfort she craved was something outside this world altogether.

She rubbed her hands, struggling to channel some magic. It wasn't completely gone, but the wards enacted around the cell prevented her from using it. Once she was outside, the cuffs would be back on, and she'd be in the same situation. Bound for Wraeclast. The continent of the damned. The place where all exiles went. And even without these limitations, her powers were still limited. She had failed to pay the blood price. It would take time to regain the spirits' trust.

Smiling grimly, Sheba set her hands on her legs instead, like a schoolgirl. Wraeclast. Ozriath. It meant little to her. As little as the sound of an opening door. As little as the sound of footsteps. As little as the sound of Sir Philip of the Order of the Templar walking up to her cell. She looked up at him.

"Hello good knight. Feeling lonely?"

He just stood there. Calm. Impassive. Filled with loathing.

"That's it?" the witch asked. "Nothing to say? Still want to give me the silent treatment?"

"You leave for Wraeclast tomorrow."

_Ah, here it comes._

"Sentence has been pronounced," the templar continued. "Judgement has been rendered."

_No trial then? Ass._

"A ship will take you to Wraeclast. You'll be cast ashore. You'll die. You will be punished. Perhaps you will find some salvation. But I doubt it."

"That's nice," Sheba said, leaning back against her cell. "Anything else?"

Philip remained silent, though Sheba could see past the façade. He hated her. And that she wasn't showing any fear or discontent made him hate her even more.

"Ozriath, Wraeclast," the witch murmured. "One land is like any other. The elements are my allies. The dead will be my servants."

"You should be afraid, _witch_."

"Fear is my closest friend." Sheba stood up. "You can't scare me, Templar."

Silence filled the cells. Apart from the sound of dripping water.

"I'll take my leave," the templar said. "You have a nice day in Hell."

He started to walk.

"Does it bother you, Philip?" Sheba called out. "To have all those deaths on your head?"

He turned around. "Those deaths are on your hands. Not mine."

"Right, right…" Sheba smirked. "Do you think your men are happy in your god's afterlife? You think they forgave you? You think those children are having a nice time?"

The templar's hand touched his sword.

"There's nothing, _nothing_, that you can do to scare me," Sheba sneered. "I stopped being scared long ago, when I realized the whole world was afraid of me. Fear's beneath me. Terror's my wine. And you're nothing but a poor sack of meat who only does what his god tells him to do."

"Oh, I know what I am," Philip said. "And I know what you are. A scared little girl who talks to ghosts and demons. Wants them as friends. And deep down, I know there's some of that fear remaining."

Sheba fell silent.

"So be afraid. Because it'll get worse. And by the time death takes you, you'll wish you'd been burnt alive back in Strobel."

And with that, the templar turned and left.

Sheba remained silent. She sat on her wooden bed.

She remained seated for a long time.

**The End**

* * *

_A/N_

_Well, that didn't go so well. Maybe when the game's actually released, there'll be more interest in this section of the site._

_As I mentioned in ch. 1, the prologue would explain why this couldn't function as a oneshot/short story, namely that's with the POV shift. Usually with short stories, POV is limited to one character only, rarely shifting. Given how it suddenly shifts at the end, I felt it made the story to be better suited to be multi-chaptered rather than a single installment._

_For what it's worth, I've got one other _Path of Exile _story on my 'to write' list titled _Footsteps on Dead Leaves_, which deals with the backstory of the ranger class. However, at this time of writing, my current writing focus is on a _Section 8 _story titled _The Spark of Life_._


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